“We’re close,” Jasper whispers. He’s already on the last screws—only one corner and a few along the side left to go. “Hold the board so it doesn’t fall and make noise once I have them all out. We’re going to have to move fast, too. That way, I think.” He points to the other side of the cabin, which backs up to the woods. “No stopping, no matter what. Even if we get separated. Everyone has to just keep running.”
Are we really doing this? My heart is thumping. My body tensed for flight. Yes. Yes, we are. And I know I can. Jasper and I just did this a few hours ago. I nod, ready to step forward and take the board. But Cassie is just standing there, shaking her head.
“I still don’t know if we should—” her voice chokes out.
“Cassie, come on. You’re just freaked out,” Jasper says. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
There’s a loud noise from the front of the cabin then. The lock again, the door cracking open.
“Move,” Jasper says.
We break off in opposite directions, jetting away from the wall and the wood. The scene of our escape in progress. At least the board is still in place. It’s our best chance for them not to realize we’ve found a way out.
I hold my breath as we wait to see who’s coming inside. I pray it is not that toothless man from the window. I do not want to see him up close. But it’s not him who finally steps tentatively inside. This man is youngish and normal-looking, a couple of years older than us maybe, with shaggy black hair and warm eyes behind square, black-framed glasses. He’s wearing dark jeans, lace-up boots, and an orange down vest over a flannel shirt, but even in those clothes he seems more big city than Maine woods.
“Hi,” he says, uncomfortable, even nervous. Aware, maybe, that this situation is profoundly messed up. It could be a good sign. “I’m Quentin.”
He’s got some bottles of water and some granola bars cradled unevenly in his arms. When he goes to put them down on the table, the water bottles immediately roll onto the floor. He scrambles awkwardly to pick them up.
“You know, whatever Cassie’s mom agreed to, she definitely didn’t sign up for this.” Jasper steps forward. His arms are at his sides, but his fists are clenched. “And Wylie and my parents didn’t agree to anything. Keeping us here is false imprisonment.”
Jasper will make an excellent lawyer someday. It’s actually pretty convincing. If only we were in a position to threaten anyone with anything. The guy holds up his hands, eyes wide.
“You’re confused, which totally makes sense. And I was just about to—” The light in the bathroom goes off, making us all twitch. “And there goes the generator again. Wait, hold on one second.” He ducks his head back out the still-open door and returns with two kerosene lanterns. They bathe the cabin in warm yellow light. “Okay, that’s better. Being trapped in the dark is not going to help anything. Listen, to be clear, having you here is for your safety. If you could just trust—”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jasper takes another step forward, his voice rising. He is much bigger than this Quentin guy. “We don’t even have any idea who you are. Why the hell would we ever trust you?”
“You okay in there, Quentin?” A nasally voice outside draws out his name like a schoolyard bully. The toothless guy, no doubt, reminding us that he’s out there. With a gun.
Quentin shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Yes, Stuart, we’re fine.”
“You’re not from some reform school, are you?” I ask.
“No,” Quentin says quietly, pressing his lips together and shaking his head again. “And everyone feels terrible about all the deception. We were really hoping he’d be here by now so he could explain himself.”
“Him, who?” I ask. “Who are you talking about?”
“Oh.” Now Quentin looks confused. “Your dad, Wylie.”
“My dad,” I hear myself say. It’s not a question. Just a word that doesn’t make any sense.
“Don’t worry. He’s fine,” Quentin hustles to add. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like there’s a problem. I guess he’s just taking the long way around.”
“Why is my dad coming here?” My heart is throbbing in my head again. “How do you even know him?”
“Oh,” Quentin says again, looking even more confused, and officially nervous. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“What is going on?” I shout, and so loud I almost scare myself.
“Okay, okay.” Quentin holds up his hands. “Your dad would have preferred if you had stayed home, obviously. But once Cassie”—he motions to her, smiles uncomfortably—“I mean once we knew you were already in Seneca, your dad had us bring you here so that you’d be safe. That’s the most important thing.”
“No, he did not,” I say, my voice quiet and trembling. I can barely force any sound out.
And it cannot be true. Because that would mean my dad knew all along what had happened to Cassie. That he stood there in our living room while Karen freaked out. While I freaked out. Pretending he had no clue. Pretending he was trying to help when really he had something to do with it. What kind of monster does that? And why?